


Art: Sleeping Beauty (omg_wtf_yeah) Fic: No U-Turns to Kansas (melagan)

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, First Time, M/M, Romance, Stargate Atlantis AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan





	Art: Sleeping Beauty (omg_wtf_yeah) Fic: No U-Turns to Kansas (melagan)

**NO U-TURNS TO KANSAS** :  
**Author** : [](http://melagan.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://melagan.dreamwidth.org/)**melagan**  
**Rating** : NC-17  
**Pairing** : John/Rodney  
**Word Count** : ~12,000  
**A/N** : SGA/SG1 crossover. Written for the [](http://sgareversebang.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://sgareversebang.dreamwidth.org/)**sgareversebang** 2012.  
**betas** [](http://mischief.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**mischief**](http://mischief.dreamwidth.org/) and [](http://mezzo-cammin.livejournal.com/profile)[**mezzo_cammin**](http://mezzo-cammin.livejournal.com/)

**Summary** : Major John Sheppard is the military's newest test pilot for the X-302 program. He has no idea it's the first step down a very strange yellow brick road.

Art Preview  


**Sleeping Beauty** : [Full size on Dreamwidth](http://omg-wtf-yeah.dreamwidth.org/50165.html#cutid1) / [ Full size on LiveJournal](http://omg-wtf-yeah.livejournal.com/49061.html#cutid1)  
**Artist** : [](http://omg-wtf-yeah.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://omg-wtf-yeah.dreamwidth.org/)**omg_wtf_yeah**  
**Rating** : G  
**Pairing** : John Sheppard/Rodney McKay  


 

**No U-Turns to Kansas**

_**Now** _

It all started so innocently with, "Hm, Apache, Black Hawk, Cobra, Osprey ...how would you like to learn to fly something new, Major Sheppard?"

Well, that was a no-brainer. Granted, the size of the non-disclosure agreement gave John pause, but the gleam of a smile in Major Davis' expression convinced John that he was making the right decision. He hadn't regretted it.

The X-302's were _awesome._

That was months ago and now – John peered into the unrelenting gloom – it was beginning to look like he needed to come up with a plan and fast. Metal plating creaked under his feet. Around him, lights sputtered to dim life and gave John a better look at his surroundings. It didn't look any less grim. Wherever this was, it sure as hell wasn't the barren plains of MR9-378.

"Hello?" John called out with soft caution. "Anyone there?" The only answer back was the rhythmic hum of machinery and a warning vibration underfoot. Well, that was just peachy. John lifted his sidearm and double-checked the safety.

The lights gradually grew brighter. John moved a cautious step forward, grateful for the illumination. He gave a quick look back over his shoulder at the Stargate that just spit him out. It looked dead. No answers there. He ignored the twisty feeling in his gut, grit his teeth, and swallowed down the bile in the back of his throat.

Up until now, John's experience in space travel consisted of short runs on the Prometheus as it shuttled the X-302s from Earth to the Falkor base. Two hours ago, Stargate Command issued orders for John and seven other pilots to, as Colonel O'Neill put it, get some face time with the Stargate.

He was damn sure it wasn't supposed to be like this.

As long as he concentrated on something else, John could ignore the pinpricks crawling up his spine. The cold, alien whispers in his head? Well, that was a little harder. But, worst of all, John recognized the vibration from earlier. The Prometheus did the same thing just before its hyperdrive kicked in. Fuck.

He let out a long, slow breath as a litany of training protocols ran through his mind. Gather intel, try to establish contact, and report to back to base. If necessary, find a safe place to hole up and wait for rescue. John's jaw tightened as the floor rumbled beneath his feet. Oh yeah, one more thing – find out where the hell he was going.

_**Then** _

"We need Rodney McKay." Sam Carter brushed a lock of hair off her forehead, leaving a shiny grease mark in its wake.

Selmak looked at her, an unhappy line drawn across his face. "I'm afraid you are right. Dr. McKay has studied the ancient workings of the ninth chevron more than anyone I know. I confess, none of the Tok'ra have ever seen working technology this old. I would have doubted its existence had I not seen it with my own eyes. However, Jacob seems concerned. Are you certain you can work with this man, Major Carter?"

"Of course I am. McKay is never going to win any personality contests but he's harmless."

"Sam." This time, her father's voice spoke through the blending. "I'm not at all impressed with the way he hit on you last time. I've never seen anyone get under your skin that badly. And that includes what happened at your sixteenth birthday party."

"I can handle him."

"Oh, I know." Jacob said. "I just wanted to make sure you don't punch his lights out in the middle of this mess. Save the planet first. After that, well, just make sure there aren't any witnesses."

"Very funny, dad. Frankly, I have my doubts women are even McKay's first choice."

"Ah yes, the Tok'ra are familiar with this concept. Availability often being the first choice." That statement and its accompanying chuckle was pure Selmak.

"I'll just go make that call then," Sam said, choking back a cough. That she could do. If she kept busy, Sam didn’t need to think about Selmak's comment or wonder why her father suddenly turned so quiet.

Turning to the communications console, Sam felt a twinge of guilt. Rodney had no field experience for something like this but she and Selmak were running out of time. They were trying to save Chulak from an impending impact with a rogue Ancient vessel. One with a Stargate so old and with so many glitches, neither she or Selmak had a chance of fixing it in time. If nothing else, they could both use fresh eyes on the problem.

They'd tried everything. Sam knew her equations were right but when she uploaded the commands, navigation froze. Her gut told her, and Selmak agreed, it was the ninth chevron causing the problem. Like it or not, their nearest, and frankly only, ninth chevron expert was Dr. Rodney McKay.

Rodney repeatedly insisted that the ninth chevron wasn't gate address at all. He was convinced it was Ancient code. Sam sighed. It would certainly explain their current problem, as much as she hated admitting McKay was right. Short of taking a crash course in chevron codeology, Rodney was their best chance of saving both the ship and everyone on the planet.

Request made, Sam sat back and tried to rub the headache away, grateful for the one good thing out of this: her team. O'Neill, or Jackson, had already anticipated the need. McKay would be here as soon as the transport rings were in range.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam found herself on deck, grinning at the men in front of her.

"Jack? I mean, Colonel, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"Oh, I thought I'd accompany Dr. McKay on over. Just to make sure you kids played nice together."

Sam narrowed her eyes. "Really."

Holding up a hand, Jack continued. "Look, I brought supplies."

"That's a lot of supplies. Is there something else going on?" Sam asked.

"It seems a reasonable preparation for a worst case scenario," Selmak answered. "I approve."

All three of them looked over to where Rodney McKay was already at work, laptops and cables arranged in a neat tangle beside him. Lines of code that Sam didn't recognize scrolled across the computer screen.

"So," Jack said, "Explain to me again why we can't just get some death gliders and blow this ship out of the sky before it rams into the planet."

"That was Bra'tak's first suggestion, Jack," Jacob answered. "But then Selmak's scans showed the presence of naquadria."

"Ouch." Jack grimaced.

"We have to find a way to redirect the ship," Jacob continued. "It's already too close to the planet to detonate safely. The fallout could kill millions. It's just as bad if it crashes."

Sam nodded. "We're looking at an extinction level event in either case, but you knew that already or you wouldn't have sent over supplies."

"Teal'c was nattering on about something like that. You know what a chatterbox he is; I could barely get him to shut up. Besides, it seemed like a reasonable precaution." Jack rubbed at his eyebrow. "Major Carter, I want to make it clear that you are not staying on this ship."

"But you can't…"

Jack interrupted. "That's an order, Major. Dr. McKay is going to boot up navigation, in which case, I'll fly it out of here. Or, if he can't, our handy little friends, the Asgard, will open a hyperspace window before the ship hits atmosphere."

"Sir," Sam said, voice tightening, "If you try to fly the ship through a hyperspace window without navigation, there's no way to know where you'll end up."

"Guess you and Dr. McKay had best get cracking then, Carter." Jack's smile was gentle but left no room for argument. "Just because we have supplies for a nice, long picnic doesn't mean I want to take one."

~*~

  
"And I'm telling you, Colonel O'Neill, we can't just dial out." Rodney took a deep breath. "Let me try explaining, again. The glyphs on this ship's gate are unlike anything we've seen before."

Jack watched as Rodney's hands emphasized every word out of his mouth. What he said didn’t really matter. Carter and Selmak were long gone. Selmak ringed back to the planet several hours ago to work on the problem from that end. Carter, well, she'd stayed until Jack ordered her back to Stargate Command to liaise with the Asgard.

As for McKay, nothing the man had tried worked. Jack had to give him credit though; not even Carter had poured more effort into saving their asses. Everything was just too damn old and there wasn't enough time. Yep, it looked like there was a long, lonely picnic in his future.

Granted, it would be more fun to spend his last fifteen minutes winding up Daniel, but McKay would do in a pinch. Jack turned his attention back to listening to McKay's explanation.

"I am aware, Colonel," said Rodney, "that the SGC gate dials seven symbols including the point of origin. But that won't work here. It's unlikely this ship even originated in the Milky Way galaxy. These glyphs are, according to my research, symbols representing other galaxies not constellations.

"The _Ozma,_ " O'Neill interrupted.

"What?"

"We can’t just keep calling her 'this ship'. She deserves a name. I'm calling her  
the _Ozma_." Jack punctuated his decision with a firm nod.

"We're minutes from a fiery death and you're naming the ship – yes yes, I mean the _Ozma_ – now?" McKay looked utterly baffled.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You were in the middle of explaining?"

"Oh, right." With a quick nod, Rodney launched back into lecture mode. "If we can dial addresses in numerous galaxies, and each galaxy has its own unique set of constellations… well, assuming that it calculates the direction and distance for the wormhole relative to the _Ozma's_ position, which is where the ninth chevron comes in…"

"Stop." Jack winced. "Not that I don't appreciate it, McKay, but we don't have time for you to go all Carter on me. You need to get to the transport rings before the Asgard open a hyperspace window."

"I'm not going. Didn't I mention that?"

Jack frowned at the stubborn tilt of McKay's chin. "We don't have time for this." He toggled the radio in ear. "Carter, Dr. McKay says he's not leaving. Can you talk some sense into him? I don’t need to tell you to make it fast."

"Sam," Rodney interrupted, loud enough for Sam to hear. "I don't have to pilot the ship; I just need to point it in the right direction. I can handle that from the command console. Give me just two more seconds to upload the program."

Jack watched as Rodney did something geeky with his laptop. The seconds ticked past, too many in his opinion, before, finally, static tickled in his ear and he heard Sam's voice over the ship's com. Oh great, a three-way. Jack had a sinking feeling this was going to turn into Two Geeks against the Goon. He didn't stand a chance.

"He's right, Colonel," Sam said, confirming Jack's Geek vs Goon theory. "Rodney is more than capable of aiming the ship through the hyperspace window. And frankly, of the two of you, he has the best chance to fix what's wrong and make it back."

"I want to do this," Rodney said. "Trust me, I'm not the sacrificing type, but this ship and its gate predate anything we've ever seen. Help me out here, Sam. You talked to your father; you know the Tok'ra admitted how rare this is. We can't just throw this opportunity away. Think of what we could learn!"

"Jeeze, what is it with you scientist types? Now you sound just like Daniel." Jack shook his head. "You're sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," Rodney hissed. "Now go before you're stuck here with me."

"You have a Stargate on the ship, Rodney," Carter said. "If you can reprogram the dialing sequence, and can get near enough to an active gate, we can get you off." She faltered. "I mean…"

"Yes yes, I know what you mean." Rodney answered. A faint flush colored his cheeks. "Once I've gotten this antique away from where it can do any damage, I can theoretically dial to any Milky Way gate."

"Once you fix it." Sam repeated.

"Of course, once I fix it. When I get back, I'll pick a place where the steaks are decent and you, Blondie, can treat me to dinner." Rodney arched a pompous eyebrow. "Say, next Saturday night?"

The com stayed quiet and Jack was beginning to wonder if they'd lost contact. He bit back a sigh of relief when Sam's voice came back on line.

"Thor says you have fifteen seconds, Colonel."

"Well then…" Rodney abruptly turned his focus back to the console in front of him.  
"Guess I'd better get to it." His fingers danced over the keys as streams of data flashed on the screen above his head.

Jack nodded, knowing changing anyone's mind at this point was moot. "Fine. Engage the rings." It felt wrong to leave like this, even knowing he'd be useless to help. "Good luck, Mc–" The flash of light took him. Jack wondered for a long time afterward if McKay had even heard his last words.

_**Now** _

John Sheppard chewed the last dry crumbs of his brownie. Calling it a brownie might be a generous description but he was damn glad to have it. Finding the stash of MREs and bottled water had saved his life. More than that, John could have wept at the beauty of the letters stamped on the boxes. **U.S.A.F.**

It meant someone had come before him. It meant, he hoped, that his chances of getting home just improved exponentially. With nothing left to do but wait, John decided to explore as much of the ship as he could. It couldn't hurt to continue scouting the area and just maybe he'd find out who left the supplies and why.

So far, the only personal item he'd found was a scorched, half-melted laptop. The remaining letters read, _Dr. Mc_. After days alone on the ship, it was a depressingly small reminder of human contact.

John rubbed his fingers carefully over the lettering like a good luck charm. He was in no way, no how, going to start carrying it around and talking to out of loneliness. No siree bub. He put Mac in one of the empty boxes where sat nice and safe. John would vehemently deny that it had anything to do with talking to himself at night. That it happened to be a box close to John's bed was sheer coincidence.

~*~

  
To keep himself busy, John drew up a plan for exploration. Days passed as, one by one, he crossed the areas off his list. The gate room and bridge were easy. He'd explored them in his first hours here, and by that nightfall, he'd discovered the supply room with food and the crew's quarters.

Closer inspection proved the facilities were – usable. Water came out of the fixtures in a thin trickle but that was worlds better than no water at all. The showers were something else altogether. They sprayed a mist that beaded up on his skin and did nothing to make him feel clean. It reminded John of standing in a warm fog. He could feel the ship trying to please him but hot, running water in quantity was beyond its scope.

The cold, alien presence in his mind whispered suggestions to reroute power. It was still creepy, but even worse, John was beginning to get used to it. With a grimace, he shook it off and reminded himself to be grateful. He had food, drinking water, and the promise of shower in the future. Maybe. John tucked the laptop more firmly under his arm. They could talk about it later.

In the ensuing days, parts of the ship invited John to come in. He found communications and the cargo bay by following lights that brightened at his approach. Other areas stayed dark and John had the distinct feeling he wasn't welcome.

~*~

  
Frowning, John wondered how he'd missed the unexplored passageway right in front of him. He must have walked past the corridor a dozen times, intent on something else. No, it was more than that. He'd swear he'd never seen this entrance before; only today, a pale shimmer of lights beckoned him forward.

The moment John stepped across the threshold, lights came on all around him. Interesting. There was certainly nothing wrong with the power supply to this room. Too strange considering how everywhere else, the ship ran on quarter power at best. The alien whispers weren’t offering any info either. They hung there, on the edge of his mind, waiting.

A heartbeat later, John turned the corner and discovered why.

There was a man standing in front of him. He had sandy hair, blue eyes, and to all appearances was frozen stiff. John moved closer and inspected the glass separating them. Ah, a stasis chamber. He'd seen the SGC reports. John tried to recall everything he'd read. This one seemed different. Red and orange lights blinked steadily back at him as John tried to puzzle it out. The answer slid into his mind. This chamber also healed any being that lay in stasis. John immediately began to look for injuries on the man.

Closer inspection revealed burn scars on the stranger's right hand that matched the scorch pattern on the laptop. There was no doubt in John's mind that this man had been holding it at the time of – what? An explosion? John nodded to himself. He'd seen a few firefights and the severity of damage – damn. How the hell did this guy get himself into the stasis chamber without passing out from shock? He must have been in agony.

"Um, pleased to meet you. You'd be the real, Dr. Mac, I guess. Hope you don't mind. I just meant to borrow – oh, never mind, why am I talking to a guy that can't hear me anyway?" John cleared his throat and looked sheepishly down at the laptop he carried. "Oh, right."

"Looks like that's healing –" He nodded toward the man's hand. "– pretty well." John took note of new skin replacing the mess of black char and raw burns. "Bet you're not even going to have any scars by the time you're out of that thing."

John suddenly and fiercely wanted to see Mac's hands whole and moving. This – this unnatural stillness – felt so very wrong.

~*~

  
He fell into a routine. Mornings he ran and did inventory. In between, John wrote reports for the SGC and his imaginary rescue. He poked at the communication systems and made some progress – except for that one tiny fire – but there was simply nothing in range to communicate with. He saved his afternoons for exploring new parts of the ship. His meals he took with Mac.

It was fast becoming the best part of his day.

John sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the stasis tank and chewed on a power bar. "I gotta tell you, Mac, I thought I was the typical lone wolf. I would have even said I liked it that way. Boy, did I have that wrong." John gave Mac a wry smile and nod. "Buddy, just knowing I'm eventually going to have someone to talk to is the only thing that makes this place bearable."

It started out with John telling Mac about his day. The more he talked the easier it got. John talked about simple things at first: his favorite planes, his best friends, his horrible childhood haircut. Somewhere along the line, it changed.

Now, when John told Mac about flying, it turned into a confession. He talked about how much he loved the clear blue of wide-open skies, how much he missed it, and the ache in his gut that curled into a hard knot just thinking that the sky might be lost for good.

And then, there were the dreams. Some, John shared with Mac. Others, not so much. John flushed at the memory. Even though the man couldn't hear him, John knew he would never tell him about the heated sweat he woke up in, or how often. His cock hard and aching with want, and Mac's image in his mind.

Dreams where he bent Mac over the nearest available surface and tongued his ass until he screamed for John to fuck him. Ears burning, John pushed the rest of his lunch away and looked Mac in the eye. Suddenly, John felt damn relived he'd never let those fantasies slip out.

He never meant to talk about his feelings either. God no. "You make one hell of a listener, Mac. Damn, some the shit I've told you…" John shook his head in bemusement. "Probably most of it was a whole lot more than you ever wanted to hear.

"One of these days, you and I are going to have a real conversation. The kind where I buy you a couple of beers and you talk back to me." John gazed at Mac. "Can't help wondering what your voice sounds like. What you'll say. Something smart, that's for sure."

John knew the man was brilliant. He could see evidence of Mac's work all over the stasis room. Earth technology married the ship's in a hundred different little ways. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the same thing mirrored all over the ship.

He stood and reached out, fingers brushing the smooth surface of the cover that prevented him from touching Mac's cheek. "I have a million questions for you. Starting with, how did you get here?" John studied Mac's crooked mouth and wondered all over again what it would look like curved up in a smile. "I'll wager a month's pay, blue eyes, that you're going to keep me on my toes."

~*~

  
The lights on the life meter eventually changed to all orange and then to amber. John held his breath as one more amber light turned green.

"I've got you, buddy. I have this baby timed to down to the wire." John told him. And he did. He'd worked out the ratio between Mac's rate of healing and his time in stasis. Mac's hand looked completely normal now. Give it another day for his fingernails to grow completely back, and after that, well, after that, there was no reason for him not to wake up.

John combed his fingers through his beard. It was time for that shave. He'd spent a lot of nights pouring his guts out to Dr. Mac. Be a shame not to make a good first impression now.

~*~

  
He barely got to finish his shave. John set the razor down, reached for the old shirt he used for a towel, and froze. It felt like the entire ship shuddered around him. Instinct kicked in. John grabbed the edge of the doorframe and held on as the deck jerked violently under his feet. The ship continued to roll with tremors as John, face still wet, ran to the stasis room.

He smacked the front of the tank. "Wake up, you lazy bastard, and help me!"

The lights blinked in a rapid cycling sequence of red, orange, and amber, and then turned dark.

John barely had time to think, _Oh shit. I broke it_ , when he heard the faint hiss of the seal breaking. A moment later, the cover slid aside and he was staring into wide blue eyes. John swallowed dryly and wondered what next. How alert was Mac going to be? Was John going to have to baby him and then somehow save both their –

Strong hands reached out, grabbed John by the shirtfront, and dragged him so close they were almost nose-to-nose. "Who are you and what have you done to the _Ozma?_ Oh shit, you didn’t touch anything in the Zed Chamber, did you? It was a bitch to bring online. Please, please, tell me you're not that much of an idiot."

"I'm…I'm John…John Sheppard and I didn't," John stammered. "I didn't touch anything. I don't even know what a Zed is." And wow, this was going nothing like the way John had pictured their first conversation.

"I need to get to the control station and find out what's going on," Mac interrupted, sharp and demanding.

With his hands still fisted in John's thin t-shirt, he pushed forward. John grabbed him by the elbow to keep him steady. That one simple touch was enough to make John crave more. It felt all kinds of wrong when Mac released him and shoved him away.

Despite the danger they were in, John's heart lightened when Mac waved a hand in his direction saying, "Well, c'mon, military person, aren't you coming?"

They were halfway down the corridor when John blurted, "It's Major Sheppard. And how the hell did you know I was military?"

"Talk later. Busy now."

Twice, Mac stumbled as the deck shuddered under their feet, and twice, John grabbed and steadied the man. "Talk now." John said. "How much trouble are we in?" They stood in the command center; the equipment around them looked cold, gray, and dead.

Mac snapped his fingers, and not wasting a moment, began to pull the panels off the nearest console. He talked as he worked, the words tumbling out almost as fast as his hands were moving.

Just as John reached a point of pure frustration – he managed to understand only half of what Mac was talking about – a wall-sized display materialized in front of him.

"How did – I didn't do that. Never mind." Mac pointed a finger at a red line in the center of the display. "Look at that." They both watched as the line continued to spike up the middle of the readout. "That's the engine room."

"That can't be good," John said.

"No, it's good."

"Good?" John asked. "Care to explain?"

Mac had a definite sparkle in his eye when he answered. "It's good because I can fix it! I just need to reroute…oh hey, open that access in the wall." He pointed to a recessed panel behind John.

Moving on instinct, John pressed his hand above the recess and ignored the clammy tendril of acknowledgement in his head. He might be able to interface with this strange technology but it felt cold and unfinished. A drawer slid open, full of odd-shaped, colored crystals.

"Now what?"

"See if you can locate an undamaged crystal that looks like the one on the display and pull it. And Major, you need to hurry."

Fortunately, it only took seconds to find. John turned around with the crystal in hand. Mac was on his knees with the guts of the central console spread out all around him. It was a mess of burnt wires and darkened crystals.

"Is this one crystal going fix all that?" John asked, passing it to Mac.

"Fix is a relative term. Nothing is going to repair this kind of damage short of a complete overhaul. But I can use this to keep us from blowing up right away, so yes, it's fixed."

Hot and sweaty was a good look on Mac. His face, streaked with smudges of char and smoke, glowed under the lights of the instrument panel. His knuckles sported scrapes and cuts. His newly healed, tender skin had already started to bruise. Beads of sweat trickled down the side of his neck to hide beneath his collar. Mac didn't look like any sleeping beauty John had ever imagined. He looked _better._

John snorted. Sleeping beauty. Maybe he'd tell Mac exactly that, once this crisis was over. Hell, if he played his cards right, he might even get a kiss out of it. If nothing else, it was bound to be entertaining. Oh yeah, Mac looked damn good. John wanted to tackle the man to the deck and chase that bead of sweat down with his tongue. All the way down.

Crap. He was so doomed.

"We're still alive. Oh my god, I did it." A huge smile crept over Mac's face.

"Good work." John barely stopped himself from taking a step closer. He wanted badly to reach out, throw his arm over Mac's shoulders, and pull him close. But he was basically still a stranger to the man, and John wanted to keep the freak-outs to a minimum. He settled for asking, "Are you okay?"

Mac blinked back at him, wide-eyed and jittery, as the shock kicked in.

"It's okay. It's just the adrenaline wearing off," John said. "I've seen plenty of reactions like this before. C'mon, let's find you something to eat." Keeping his voice gentle, he added, "I've fixed up one of the rooms not far from here. It's not exactly a spread in Better Homes & Gardens, but add a few throw pillows and we can call it practically cozy."

Mac nodded, his mouth turned down in a weary slant. Yep, definitely exhausted. John guided him along with a hand on his back. Concerned now at how badly the man's hands were shaking, John tossed caution to the wind and put his arm around Mac's shoulder, offering comfort and warmth. Mac sagged against him and never made a whisper of protest.

~*~

  
To John's relief, food turned out to be a great icebreaker. Mac, ate like he hadn't eaten in…well, John mused, it was a good thing they had plenty. John leaned back, satisfied to just watch and see what Mac would do next.

"You, um –" Mac's fork stopped waving in midair but only for a moment. "You did all this?" He used the fork to point at the furnishings around the room. "It's nice. Not exactly what I was expecting."

"I had a lot of time," John answered. "Besides, the candlelight makes it look better than it is."

"Well, it looks good. Homey, almost."

"Uh, thanks, I guess."

Breaking out the emergency candles came from need, not any interior decorating urge. Still, he couldn't deny that the soft glow added a much-needed warmth to the room. It seemed to help anyway. Or maybe it was the human contact. Or the food. Or maybe it was something else entirely because, finally, the tension balled in John's shoulders began to ease as he watched the color gradually return to Mac's face.

"I usually handle this sort of thing better," Mac said. "No really, I'm actually very good in a crisis. I don't fall apart at the end of it. A nap, maybe, and food, but this –" His hands fluttered between them for a moment. "– is ridiculous. My knees feel like sponge rubber. Do you think it's my time in stasis? Oh, that has to be it! What a relief."

"Slow down a minute. We have a lot to catch up on. Why don't we start with you explaining how you ended up here in the first place? Hey, it's not one of those things where you can't tell me or you'd have to kill me, is it?" John teased.

"Very funny, Major Sheppard." Mac paused, thoughtful expression on his face. "Guess you could say things didn't go as planned."

"It's John. I think under the circumstances you can call me by my first name."

"If I call you, John," he snapped back, "will you please stop calling me that utterly ridiculous misnomer, Mac? Why are you calling me, that anyway? My name is Rodney. Dr. Rodney McKay. Remember it because one day, it will be famous."

A look of dawning horror came over Rodney's face. "Oh god, I don't remind you of an old army buddy who died a violent and completely useless death, do I? Because that would be all kinds of disturbing."

John snorted. "Not really a people person, are you?"

Rodney scowled back at him and John held up a hand in peace. "Okay, okay, Mr. Sensitivity, relax. I found your laptop."

"My laptop? You have no idea what good news that is. I was certain it was destroyed in the explosion. You may have just saved me weeks of duplicating my work, Major. If I can rescue even half of the stuff on the hard drive – What?"

"Don't get your hopes up. It's in rough shape. One corner is sort of melted and the only part not scorched had the letters Mc on it."

"The letters…ah, I get it. And do tell, why did you decide Mac was the way to go with that?"

John studied his own fingernails as he pretended to give it some thought. "Well…you know, I noticed you've been fixing the ship. Little things. Things that make it work better and doing it with the few supplies we have on hand." John looked up a Rodney with a shy grin. "My guess is you're a dangerous man with a rubber band and paperclip."

"Really? Oh, well, I mean – that's a MacGyver reference, isn't' it?" The tips of Rodney's ears turned pink. "I suppose that's acceptable under the circumstances. Ah, but now you don't have any more excuses not to call me by my name."

So help him, John hadn't pouted in years but this seemed the perfect time.

"Okay then," John tilted his head and smiled, "Rodney. Now that imminent death isn't imminent, think you could answer a few questions? I'll start with something easy. How did you recognize I was military when I was out of uniform?"

"It's obvious. O'Neill sent you. You're part of my rescue team. So where is everyone else?" Rodney asked.

Oh jeez, he didn't see this one coming. Of course, Rodney would assume – "Um," John said, hesitating. "Not exactly."

"What do you mean –" Rodney's eyes narrowed. "– not exactly?"

"O'Neill didn't send me; at least, not on purpose, I don't think." John drawled out the last words, beginning reconsider. No, not possible. "My being here is a coincidence, and by that, I mean an accident. I was supposed to be gating to Stargate Command. I might be new to gate travel but I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to feel wobbly."

"Wobbly? Ah, that would be, no." Rodney smirked. "You threw up, didn't you?"

"That's ridiculous." John wasn't about to admit it but he'd been damn queasy those first few moments and nearly dropped to his knees from the vertigo. Thank god, it had passed quickly.

McKay just waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Don't bother to lie to me, Major. The alignment of this ship's gate is barely sufficient to make the connection. The ninth chevron has to work perfectly for anyone to gate onboard. Factor in the age of this ship, the instability of the power distribution and – well, who knows how many tried traveling through the ship's gate and never rematerialized?"

"Never…?" John swallowed around the cold pit in his stomach.

"This ship is old," Rodney continued. "Older than anything we've ever come across. Who knows? Maybe its builders never expected it to survive long enough for stellar drift to be a problem. Or maybe they were just lousy designers."

"But you can fix it?' John asked.

"Yes, Sheppard. Given enough time, I can fix it. Have I mentioned that I'm the foremost expert on the ninth chevron? Well, I am. Trust me, you couldn't be in better hands."

Rodney paused to rummage in an old rucksack. He'd dragged the thing out of a closet in the supply room and made John carry it to their quarters. It looked beyond well worn. He pulled out a half-eaten package of saltines and handed them to John. "You can thank me later."

"Hey, I don't need it _now._ " John took the crackers anyway and carefully put them in his pocket. "We’ll have to share a bed."

"Ah," Rodney raised an eyebrow. "Just to sleep or are we going with General Hammond's rule? What happens offworld, stays offworld? Because I have no problem with Hammond's rule, just in case you wondered."

Swallowing hard and feigning wide-eyed innocence, John answered, "Well, look around. We can't get more offworld than this."

Rodney's slow and wicked grin in return was everything John hoped for.

"Shower first?" Rodney asked. "Guess I don't have to tell you, it's been a while."

"Sure, but it's not much of a shower. It just sort of mists stuff all over you."

"Oh, it does more than that," Rodney said. "Trust me."

[ **Part II** ](http://melagan.livejournal.com/284796.html)

Rodney was right. John's head thumped back against the shower wall and he wondered if his knees would ever hold him upright again. This mist stuff, it settled on skin like thick water and smoothed over it like lotion. He'd known it in the way he'd known it soaked up the dirt in tiny beads that fell off his skin like hard rain. But – oh, John hadn't fully appreciated the lotion stage. He did now.

Touch starved. John knew what it meant; he could even understand how it applied to him after the long, lonely months on this ship. Oh, but Rodney, Rodney must have been equally starved. His hands had wandered all over John's body. Strong, capable hands. Hands that touched, stroked, _caressed_ John, until John's fucking knees trembled under their onslaught and left him gasping.

Getting off was surprisingly secondary.

"Hey, a little help here, Sheppard."

Well, maybe not secondary to McKay. John lifted heavy eyelids to stare down at a hard, flushed cock rising up to meet him. Rodney's face looked desperate and his whole body vibrated with arousal. John reached down, wrapped his fingers around Rodney's sturdy cock, and gave it a tug, pulling Rodney closer. It was a hell of a handful – hot and silky to the touch. Not as long as John's, but thick and sturdy. Just thinking about it made his gut curl in anticipation and his mouth water. This was going to be fun.

~*~

  
"How many times today are you going to check the Z lab, anyway?" John asked. "You've been down there at eight times already and it's not lunchtime yet."

Rodney never raised his head from his work to answer. "As many times as it takes."

"You're sure this is the thing that's going to get us home?"

"Very sure, John. The 'thing', as you call it, is a zero point module. I'm sure when we get back, you'll find reference to it in the SGC's reports. Well, once O'Neill gives you clearance. There's no reason not to, now that you know about the stargates."

Rodney looked up, in full lecture mode now. "According to the ship's database, the _Ozma_ is designed to skim through subspace and gather the raw materials to create and charge a ZPM. I know –" Rodney shook a finger at John. "– you're wondering how did the Ancients stop exotic subspace particles from generating randomly, which by their very nature is impossible to predict.

"They didn't!" Rodney's face was alight with geek glee. "They used a power conversion algorithm – not dissimilar to Asgardian equations by the way – that allowed them to drain energy _from_ the exotic particles! Do you know what that that means? The power potential is off the charts! Granted, the ship's a prototype, and not quite all the bugs are worked out, and certainly the Ancients found more efficient methods since, but that's not the point…"

Eyes beginning to glaze over, John interrupted. "Just tell me, McKay, is it going to work?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Sheppard. It is working." Rodney beamed. "Another month and we'll have a fully charged ZPM!"

Rodney frowned, tapping at the screen in front of him, "That's odd. These power fluctuations don't make sense – unless…"

"What?" John leaned over the console to see the reading Rodney was staring at.

"Oh, this can’t be…" Rodney stared at John and pointed an accusing finger. "You have the Ancient gene."

"The what?" John asked, distracted by the rapidly snapping fingers in front of him. Christ, Rodney's hands. Damn it. Last night those same fingers had…John dragged his brain back on track, forcibly willing his erection away. This stuff sounded kind of important.

"– the Ancient Technology Activation gene. Do you any idea how rare – no, of course, you don't. John, this is important. Has the _Ozma_ tried to make contact with you?"

"You know about that?" John asked.

"I know everything about everything. Just answer the question."

Although he couldn't help raising an eyebrow at Rodney's bold statement, John still had to ask, "Is that's why I keep hearing and –" He cleared his throat. "Sensing things?"

"You sense things? Really? That is fascinating. O'Neill never mentioned – well, never mind. We can talk about it later. Are lights coming on when you enter a room? Or is any equipment turning on or off when you think about it?"

John nodded.

"Then yes, you have the ATA gene. And it's not under very good control I might add."

"The ship or my head? Be very careful of your answer, McKay."

"You know what?" Rodney turned back to the readouts and grabbed up his notes. "I'm just going to work on the reprogramming, now. Over there. Away from here."

"Yeah. That's probably a good idea." John sighed. "We'll talk later, Rodney. It's just, right now, I'd just like to take a break from the weird."

~*~

  
He never should have invoked 'weird'. It was just asking for trouble. John took a step into the room and paused. The chair in front of him, some kind of metal lounge/dental chair crossover with a funky head brace sat in the center of the room. John drew closer, and without thinking, reached out to touch….

"Major? John?"

Startled out of his daze, John looked down to see Rodney's hand on his arm. "What happened?

"You're been gone for two hours, John. I got …concerned." Rodney's face looked pinched and white. He was still gripping John's arm, trying to pull him away.

"Okay. It's okay. I'm coming."

Once back in their room, John drew in a deep breath. It felt like remembering to breathe again. "That was…what was that?"

"Sit." Rodney pressed a hot cup of tea into his hand. "Drink that. It'll help. You look like a ghost walked over your grave." Rodney waited for John to take a sip before continuing. "That was the command chair. You were thinking about sitting in it, weren't you? Well, don't."

"Aw, Rodney, you're worried about me. I didn't know you cared."

"Of course, I… never mind. This is serious. Colonel O'Neill almost died trying to interface with an Ancient Repository. It's a kind of – all encompassing data dump. The human brain can't handle it. What were you doing there anyway?"

"An Ancient Repository? That chair thing?" John asked. "Wait, you said command chair. Which is it?"

"Both. It's likely the Ancients programmed the _Ozma's_ primary directives from the chair. You and I, however, are not Ancients. If we tried to use it, the device would attempt to bring us online, doing who knows what to the human brain."

"Well, that sounds unpleasant." John sipped his tea, thinking it over.

"How did you find it, anyway?" Rodney asked.

"Hmm, oh that? I noticed how the ship never talked to me when I was near that location. I wanted to see what the _Ozma_ was hiding from me. Hey, don't look so worried, McKay. I promise not to do anything stupid."

John kept his promise. He stayed away from the chair room and Rodney stopped looking so concerned. All in all, it was a good month. John continued to explore the ship while Rodney's work kept him running between the ZPM lab and navigation control. The nights, well, they were turning into something special.

Sometimes, they talked. Sometimes, Rodney fell into bed, barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to eat few bites of dinner. But, more often than not, they ended up having sex. Dirty, raunchy sex that blew John's mind.

He liked sex as much as the next guy, but Rodney, hot damn, Rodney had a thing for John's cock. More than once, he'd lain on their bed, swearing and writhing under John, all hot skin and urgency while John, slicked up with whatever they could find, rubbed his cock all over every square inch of skin he could reach. Belly, balls, nipples, and on one memorable night, Rodney's armpits.

The man had the filthiest mind of anyone John had ever met. And for the record, John had been so unexpectedly turned on, he'd ended up fucking Rodney through the floor.

John could already tell this wasn't going to be one of those nights. He'd walked into their quarters to find Rodney sitting on the bed. The way his shoulders slumped with weariness, John knew some new problem worried at his brain. "McKay, are you okay?"

"I don't know if I can sleep," Rodney admitted.

"Just relax." John kneeled down to take Rodney's shoes off. "We can talk in the morning."

Rodney nodded, head bent so close, his hair brushed against John's cheek. "I know it sounds stupid, but if feels good not to be alone."

John gently pushed Rodney down on the bed. He striped them both and crawled in beside Rodney, tucking the covers around them. He remembered what it was like before he found Rodney: alone, adrift, and abandoned.

Finding Rodney changed all that. He'd learned Rodney's face even if he hadn't known his name. Studied every fine quarter-inch of those long eyelashes, the curve of Rodney's cheek, and the slant of his mouth.

John pulled him closer, and eventually, Rodney's restless tossing turned to warm, snuffling sleep noises. If Rodney seemed comforted by his presence, well… John curled his body around Rodney's and closed his eyes. He could – just maybe – admit the feeling was mutual. Too softly for Rodney to hear, John whispered, "I know exactly what you mean, buddy."

~*~

  
"So," John said, while chewing on a power bar, "The Weir expedition, tell me what you know about it, McKay."

Rodney looked up from his forkful of roast and nearly choked. "How do you even know about that?"

"There was talk. I heard a few things." John shrugged.

"You heard a few very _classified_ things, Sheppard."

"Word gets around. I might have overheard the 302 groundcrew making bets." John watched Rodney's eyes grow rounder, then casually added, "Thought it might have something to do with why O'Neill recruited me for gate travel."

"I don't suppose you also heard about Atlantis?" Rodney asked.

"The mythical lost city?" John drawled carefully. Seeing Rodney flustered might be fun, but that shade of red couldn't be good for anyone.

"Yes, well, we have reason to believe it's not so mythical." Rodney blew out a long sigh. "And you have the gene. I suppose it was only a matter of time before O'Neill put them together. Look, that expedition is still in the planning stages. Dr. Daniel Jackson has spent months looking for clues to the whereabouts of Atlantis, and we still don't have a gate address."

John nodded. "And Weir?"

"Dr. Elizabeth Weir. She's on the short list to head the expedition. Assuming the IOA gets their way and they can keep it a civilian mission."

"Rodney."

"What?"

"We're on an Ancient ship. The logs are full of gate addresses. Ancient gate addresses. What do you think the odds are of –"

Rodney dropped his fork. "– finding Atlantis in the database. Why didn't I think of that?" He jumped up, pushing his meal away. "Well, c'mon, what are you waiting for? Oh, and for the record, Major? Smirking like that is not the least bit attractive on you."

John snorted.

Fifteen minutes later, they were scrolling through the ship's logs. More accurately, Rodney scrolled and John stood behind him pointing out likely addresses. So far, none of the brief descriptions matched.

"What if it's not lost yet?" John asked. "You did say this ship predated all of the other Ancient stuff the SGC knows about."

"You're suggesting we stop looking for references to a lost city and start looking for…"

"A city – or a place – designed to be hidden."

"A city –" Rodney snapped his fingers. "A city – with a cloaking device!"

"Can the Ancients do that?" John nearly bounced on his toes. "Cloak an entire city?"

"It's highly likely. The Goa'uld had to scavenge their cloaking technology from somewhere. And if the city is in here, I can find it." Rodney grinned. "Daniel Jackson, eat your heart out."

It was the next day before Rodney's algorithm pinged for attention.

"I found it!" Rodney nearly vibrated with excitement. "You're not going to believe this. It's in the Pegasus galaxy. At least it will be."

"That's a hell of a long way from Earth, Rodney. And what do you mean by, it will be?"

"I knew the Ancients built everything big, but I had no idea they made such long-range plans as well. It makes sense, I suppose."

"I suppose." John raised an eyebrow. "If you're an Ancient. Spit it out, McKay. What have you got?"

"We have a gate address for our hidden city."

"I can hear a 'but'," said John.

"What we have are essentially blueprints assigned with a predetermined gate address. And by that, I mean when this information was logged, the city hadn't been built yet, let alone moved to the Pegasus galaxy."

"But you think it's there now?" John asked.

"If the Ancients followed their plans, then yes." Rodney coughed. "Actually, it would be an ancient Ancient city by now."

"What exactly are you suggesting, Rodney? You think we can go there? Assuming all this happened according to plan?"

"Well, you have to admit, Sheppard, it would be incredible."

John folded his arms across his chest. "Tell you what, we can call the Pegasus blueprint Plan B. But –" He tapped the console where Rodney's current work was logged. "Plan A is getting our asses back to Earth. Once we're home, Rodney, you can tease Jackson with the Atlantis gate address to your heart's content."

"I like how you think, Major Sheppard."

Half a beat later, Rodney spoke so softly John strained to hear the words. "But if we miss our window to the Milky Way, Plan B could turn out to be our last viable option."

~*~

  
"Last viable option?" John twirled a curl of Rodney's hair around his finger. "There's a whole bunch of stuff you're not telling me, isn't there?"

Rodney, naked, thoroughly spent, and too relaxed to lift his head from John's chest, mumbled an answer into John's nipple.

"Say again?"

"I said, we're close to the Void."

"Void?" John asked. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"No stars, no planets, and no gates. A big empty nothing stretching across thousand of light centuries. Without navigation, we still can't change course." Rodney curled his hand over John's side, holding on. His grip tightened enough to leave bruises. "We're headed straight for it."

"With no place to park the car and stretch our legs." Stranded and lost forever, John meant, not wanting to be the one to say it. "What about…?"

"The stasis chamber? Not really an option. We'd be there a long time, John. Even if we woke up, we'd be so old, I doubt we'd survive long."

"Hey," John slid his hand down Rodney's naked thigh and tucked him closer, finding the sweet, warm weight of Rodney's body a sensual comfort. One he didn't plan to give up any time soon. "You're a genius, remember? You're going to use that brilliant brain of yours to fix the coding and get navigation back online. The _Ozma_ is going to finish the ZPM any day now, and we're going to be talking over pizza and O'Neill's good beer before you know it."

"And, um, the sex?" Rodney asked. "Because I really like the regular sex."

"Planning for us to go offworld together a lot are you?" John teased.

"As often as I can arrange," Rodney answered with utter earnestness.

~*~

  
After that, John started paying closer attention to the work Rodney was doing. Rodney worked frantically, like a man possessed. He only stopped to eat when John dragged him away from the computer and then he was back at it again twenty minutes later.

"You can't keep this up, McKay." John knew concern colored his voice. But he was worried, damn it. Rodney's eyes bore chronic, dark circles from lack of sleep and the constant wear of fatigue showed in the grim tilt of his mouth.

John put his hand on Rodney's back, now painfully aware of the tightness across the man's shoulders. "Talk to me."

Rodney sighed and rubbed his eyes. "The good news is the ZPM is finished. Looks like it's a full charge too. There's even the start of a second. Impressive really. I'd judge it was the _Ozma_ 's primary purpose. Only it looks like once the Ancients found a faster way to manufacture the ZPMs they stripped her down and abandoned that function.

"I found a lot of weird, empty containers in the cargo bay."

"Hmm, impossible to know for sure, but they might have been converting her for scientific study.

"The dust was pretty damn thick around those containers, Rodney. I'd say the whole ship was abandoned long before we got here."

"That's a mystery we'll have to save for another day. I'm afraid, we've got a more pressing problem."

"Go on," John prompted. "Exactly how deep is the shit we're in?"

"The _Ozma_ should have dropped out of FTL drive a dozen times by now."

"And that means what exactly?" John asked.

"Even without the power to dial out, our gate should have detected other Stargates in the vicinity. Several by now, actually. Each time we should have dropped out of FTL drive and our gate should have tried to dial a connection."

"It can do that?"

"Yes. We don’t need a ZPM for that. Not if the gate is close enough. The ship's default uses the power from the other gate to maintain contact. That, my friend, is how you ended up onboard. Well that, and because it's obvious the _Ozma's_ gate can override the Earth gate."

"Yeah." John didn’t quite roll his eyes. "Obvious."

"I don't know why we're not detecting the presence of the other gates. A computer malfunction? An equipment break down? Lack of some vital element?" Rodney threw his hands up in the air. "Take your pick. Bottom line, we're stuck here until I can use the ZPM to power the gate from our end. Which I can't do because the ship won't unlock it from the building matrix. It's just lying there, ready and waiting, and _Ozma_ refuses to let me use the damn thing! Apparently, its directive considers it too dangerous." Rodney raked his hands through his hair. "I can't override the safety protocols, John. I've tried everything."

"I know you have, buddy." John laid his hand on Rodney's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Maybe it's my turn, now. I could use the chair. Maybe I can unlock the ZPM that way."

"John, no." Rodney clutched at John's arm. "Forget that idea right now. It's too dangerous. We have no idea…Using the Ancient tech like that – it could kill you. I'll think of something. I swear." Rodney rubbed his eyes as he sighed with weariness. "I just…just need to get some rest first. Think the problem through with a clear head."

"C'mon, champ, it's late. You've been averaging what, four hours of sleep a night? For how long?" John cussed at himself all over again. He should have been paying more attention instead of dozing off into a comfortable sleep after one of Rodney's early morning blowjobs. "No more work tonight. It's time for all good little astrophysicists to go to bed."

Rodney grumbled and protested the entire way back to their room but he went. Maybe he realized John had no intention of taking no for an answer. Or maybe it was exhaustion. In any case, Rodney's eyes closed the minute he collapsed on the bed, his long eyelashes leaving dark shadows against his pale cheeks. How damn long had Rodney been burning the candle at both ends and John never noticed? And how much longer could he keep it up?

John eased off Rodney's shoes and tucked the blanket around him. He stayed and watched over his own personal sleeping beauty until Rodney was gently snoring and drooling into his pillow. Running out of time or not, the one thing John was sure of, this couldn't continue.

~*~

  
John gazed at the Ancient command chair and balanced the gains against the risks. The midnight silence weighed on him like the calm before the storm.

He could save them. John knew it down to his bones. One simple command: Release the ZPM. The _Ozma_ would listen; heck, she'd wanted in his head since day one. John shivered, wondering if this might be what she wanted all along, if this would somehow make him _hers._

Decision made, John leaned over the chair and carefully touched the headpiece, what Rodney called the neural interface. Not a hum, buzz, or thank you, sir, came back for a response.

Maybe it was broken. Maybe all of Rodney's fussing was for nothing, after all. Just the same, John wasn't backing out now. He knew by the things McKay didn't say, and by the constant strain around his eyes, the situation was desperate. John had to fucking make this work or they'd lose their chance for Earth.

Resolve settled, he sat down in the chair. Nothing happened. He curled a fist, ready to punch something when, without warning, the neural pads clamped down over his temples. John's back arched under the kinetic fury of the Ancient download, his screams stolen away by the fire in his brain.

John had no idea how long he laid there. It might have been minutes or hours. He couldn't speak his own name or wipe the spittle from his chin but he did know when Rodney found him. Rodney's arms became the most solid thing in John’s world as he lifted him from the chair.

It was a long time before John remembered anything else.

~*~

  
Rodney dragged his bedding into the stasis room. "I hate this. This is your fault. I never used to mind my time alone. I could finally get work done without annoying interruptions. Then you come along and change all that." Rodney glared at the stasis chamber where John stood in a perpetual frozen lean.

Rodney had barely managed to keep John upright when he manhandled his unconscious body into the pod. Surely, John would forgive him for the slightly undignified pose. After all, he couldn't feel anything in stasis. Besides, it looked surprisingly natural.

"Do you know how much this cavern of a ship echoes? If someone weren't so determined to rescue us _knowing_ it could fry his brain, we could be…well, we'd probably be writing our wills and arguing over the last of the MREs. But," Rodney huffed, "at least we'd be doing it together."

He sat down on the bedding in an exhausted flop of limbs. "I'm sick of this; I want you awake. I'm tired of my own voice and … I … I miss you, John. Damn it. I had no idea how much I lo…well."

Rodney drew in a shaky breath. "Yes, I know how much you hate the idea of frozen sleep. I just hope you realize you're there for your own good. Assuming this is something you can recover from…" Rodney paused in dismay. "No no, it's best to believe the _Ozma_ can heal you. After that, my friend, we are so going to talk about this hero complex of yours."

Too keyed up to sleep, Rodney's gaze settled on John. Again. He'd spent a lot of time doing that lately. Bedding down in here was a brilliant idea, if he said so himself. He'd spend the last three nights trying to sleep in their bed. No matter how diligently he worked himself to exhaustion, he still ended up staring at the ceiling at night.

Only, the ceiling wasn't what he saw. Instead, his brain kept reliving that moment he found John in the Ancient chair. He couldn't shake the memory of the way John's body lay unresponsive in his arms, the way his head lolled to the side like a rag doll… Rodney rubbed at his eyes. Fuck it. This was better. At least he could see John.

The display caught his eye as one of the lights on John's stasis pod turned from red to orange and seconds later, flickered to amber. Rodney breathed a sigh of relief. This was going to work. Probably. If they had time.

The next morning, Rodney stood in front of John and pointed to the program on his computer. "Your plan worked. Yes, I'm perfectly aware you can't actually see or respond to anything I'm saying, but I thought you'd want to know anyway. Hmm, you're a bit like talking to my cat actually – without the scratching.

"See this? This is where you unlocked the ZPM." Rodney smiled at John. "I don't want you to think I'm wasting your efforts. The ZPM is powering the gate now. And I've fixed it so that we're dropping out of FTL drive whenever our gal, _Ozma_ detects a Stargate.

"Ha! I thought that would get your attention." Rodney's mouth bent in an ironic bow. "God, you're beautiful. Is it okay to say that to another man? I don't care. It's true. Just, you know, don't expect me to say it when you can hear me.

"Now then, as I was saying, you've bought us some time. The bad news is, yesterday, we pinged the last Milky Way gate in our database. The possibility of gating into the vacuum of space, or something worse by guessing our way, is more suicidal than I care to attempt. So," Rodney rocked back on his heels, "Plan B it is. No argument from you? Good."

~*~

  
Days passed until finally there was nothing left for Rodney to do but wait. It drove him crazy. He paced in front of the stasis pod. "You need to heal faster. Seriously, Sheppard, what are you doing there? Having harem fantasies?" Rodney shook his finger at John. "You know, I'm all for a good fantasy but time's up. We need to leave. And by that, I mean immediately. Everything is ready. I've just been waiting for you.

"Oh god, I hope you're healed. I can't tell just by looking at you. If your brains are still scrambled…"

He took a steadying breath. No matter what happened, he'd be there for John. If it turned bad, then Rodney vowed to get him the best doctors, the best help. He'd steal a Goa'uld healing device if he had to. Even if it meant he had to seduce Carter. He could exert wiles if he had to. Ah, best not dwell on that. Or ever tell John.

He took one last look at the row of lights. The display signaled green save the last two. It could be days before the amber turned green or it could be within seconds. Rodney weighed John's odds against how close they were to never getting off the ship. Too close. He never should have risked… Well, recriminations could wait. First, they had to survive.

With a determined set to his jaw, he pressed the release sequence. He just hoped John was up to running because, right now, they were looking at minutes.

"John?"

The next thing Rodney knew, John's hands were gripping his shirtfront and dragging him close. John's mouth pressed against his and Rodney found himself kissing back as hard as he could.

"Can we get out of here now?" John asked.

Rodney couldn't seem to stop grinning despite the danger they were in. "Yes, you sacrificing idiot, but we have to hurry."

John halted Rodney, laying a hand on his shoulder. "So the chair didn't work?"

"Oh, it worked. The _Ozma_ unlocked the ZPM almost immediately. Unfortunately, it left you drooling and unconscious. I had to stuff you into stasis and hope you healed before we had to jump ship."

"Wait, Rodney, you had the ZPM, you could have dialed the gate and left at any time. You had a safe, clear shot to get back to Earth and you…you waited for me?" John stared at the floor and swallowed hard for a moment. Rodney was beginning to wonder if he broke him when John looked up and gave him a blinding grin.

"So," John said, voice oddly rusty. "What do you think our odds are now?"

"Pitiful to horrifying," Rodney snorted. "Just the way you like it." He bumped against John's shoulder. "Just so you know, this time I'm bringing a ZPM. Even if it's not a full charge, it's bound to come in handy."

~*~

  
John knew they’d nearly cut it too fine. He could feel the short hairs on the back of his neck tingle with hot static even before the gate died behind them.

Rodney was a half step ahead of him. "McKay."

"Hmm?"

It was dark, but he could make out Rodney's face in the glow of his laptop. John had a sneaking suspicion that Rodney had found a way to boost its power with the ZPM. Rodney wasn't admitting anything and John didn't ask. Since he didn't look any the worse for wear, John allowed himself a minute to drink in the sight.

"You can put the gun down, John. There's nobody here but us."

"How can you be so sure?"

Rodney snapped his fingers. "Do that thing you do."

"What?" John hissed.

"The _Ozma_ was a prototype for a lot of different things," Rodney quickly explained, "including the ATA gene interface. It predates Atlantis by several thousand years." He nodded confidently in John's direction. "I think you can trust that the Ancients got it right by now."

"The Ancients? I take it we went with Plan B? We're on Atlantis?" The words were barely out of John's mouth when lights began to come on, cutting through the darkness and lighting a path under their feet. "Whoa."

"Oh wow," Rodney said. "That is so cool. I can't wait to see what else you can do."

John nodded and steeled his mind against the expected the alien chill. Only, this touch was nothing like the way it felt on the _Ozma_. This warm, welcoming song in his mind felt like … John gasped. It felt like _home._

And home had an urgent message for him. "Rodney, that half-charged ZPM you brought, I know exactly where to put it." John raised an eyebrow. "Don't say it, McKay."

He grabbed Rodney by the elbow and pushed him down the nearest corridor. The lights came on in a flurry ahead of them, lighting their way. "We need to hurry."

"Oh my god, John, we're underwater." Rodney pressed his hand against the glass surface. A huge fish swam less than two feet away from his face. John swore that, for a moment, both McKay and the fish had the same wide-eyed expression on their faces. "Oh. No. John, the shield is collapsing."

"I know, Rodney. C'mon, we have to hurry." A door slid open in front of them and John hustled Rodney inside the – "It's not a closet." A display opened up and John tapped the bright spot lit in gold.

Rodney's jaw dropped as the doors opened in to a completely different room. "My god, John, this has to be the main module conduit." Rodney's eyes scanned the console. "According to this, their ZPMs are almost depleted."

"Hear that?" Atlantis obliged John, and the distant rumbling piped through the communication system, loud and clear. The distinctive sound of a gate dialing filled the small, quiet room.

"How did you know…?" Rodney asked. "Is that…?"

"The Earth expedition? It better be. Atlantis says the eighth chevron just engaged. It has to be Dr. Weir, right?"

"They're early. A lot early." Rodney hesitated, hands paused above the final connection to the ZPM. "Unless it's not them and then I don't think we want to be found here."

"Peter, what's going on?" Elizabeth Weir's firm voice came over the speaker. "Why are the stairs lit up like that?"

"I don't know, Dr. Weir," awe and curiosity apparent in Peter's reply. "I have no explanation, but I'd say it certainly looks like someone left the porch light on for us."

Rodney looked at John. "This isn't good. The city doesn't have enough power left to support an entire expedition."

"That's why I said hurry." John gestured at the ZPM. "Do whatever it is you have to do to get that thing working before we all drown."

Rodney gave a sharp nod and focused on the business at hand. With quick, sure movements, he made the final connection, and the ZPM glowed with power.

They stared, beaming at each other in delight, but before they could think about a high-five, they heard an unladylike shout above them.

"Peter, what the hell was that? Is there someone down there?"

"Shall I inform Colonel Sumner, Dr. Weir? It might be safer to have the marines check it first."

John raised his eyebrows at Rodney. "Looks like we have some explaining to do."

"True. Preferably without getting shot."

"My sentiments exactly, McKay."

"Elizabeth Weir is a reasonable woman," Rodney said. "I'm sure once I explain the value of your gene and my considerable genius, she'll see how the odds of surviving this mission just went up fifty, no eighty, ahem, eighty-five percent."

"C'mon, buddy," John clapped a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "We can discuss your ego later. Right now, I think we'd better introduce ourselves before someone shoots us."

"Hey!" Rodney protested. "It's not ego if it's true!"

~*~

  
John leaned against the balcony railing and relished the feel of the warm sea breeze ruffling his hair. The sun dipped below the horizon, washing the sky with reds and orange that promised another beautiful day come morning.

"Hey, there you are." Rodney walked up to John and stood hip close. "Nice job getting the city to rise like that."

John shrugged. "I didn’t have to do much. It would have probably risen anyway without my nudging it along."

"In either case, it’s less drain on the ZPM now that Atlantis doesn't have to hold back several metric tons of water. Good call."

A peaceful silence stretched between them. Pale stars from unknown constellations began to fill the evening sky.

Rodney cleared his throat. "All in all, I'd say that the meeting went well. I told you that Elizabeth was a smart woman. Before my disappearance into subspace, she'd planned on inviting me on the expedition. I'd suspected as much of course. And then, I pointed out that, until the _Ozma_ highjacked you, O'Neill was grooming you for this mission anyway."

"You don't actually know O'Neill had that in mind," John said.

"Oh please," Rodney huffed. "I thought Colonel Sumner was going to turn purple before he finally admitted that you were supposed to be here too. But he did admit it!"

"It's funny how it all worked out." John said, shoulder casually pressed against Rodney's.

Rodney hummed and pointed at the third moon rising over the horizon. "I supposed you noticed how we're offworld? One might even say offgalaxy." He leered hopefully.

John burst out laughing and dragged Rodney close. Rodney's neck was warm against his face as John chucked softly into it, "You know, Mac, I think I'm going to like it here."

~~*~~


End file.
